


And the World Spins Madly On

by LilyRosetheDreamer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood, Disassociation, F/F, F/M, Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Trauma, a hopeful attempt at a genuine Hanzo-centric adventure, everyone will appear at some point, pairings will be added as they come to me, please comment if you can, yes the title is from the song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9587153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosetheDreamer/pseuds/LilyRosetheDreamer
Summary: Shimada Hanzo - a lone wolf fighting to find his own way and lost in the midst of the clans warring over who will claim him as a weapon and prize.Perhaps it's time to shake things up - and be shaken in return.





	1. Wild Mint and Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is a multi-chapter Hanzo-centric fic that is based on recent musings about him.I get the feeling that Hanzo is very much his own agent, neither joining with Overwatch or Talon. Wanted to write a fic around that, so enjoy!

There is a wolf.

It stares at him through the leaves, eyes dappled gold in the flashes of sunlight through the forest canopy. He gazes back, fascination in every breath he takes. 

He’s always liked wolves.

His hand is reaching out, just as the grey beast turns and slips through the bushes, tufted tail brushing moss and ivy.

There is wild mint in the air, on his tongue and the forest teems with life and a freedom Hanzo only ever dreams of. The sun strokes his skin and draws out a red flush, sweat  glistening on his brow - he thinks of the brook he passed fleetingly, but the heat and his single-minded focus sap any strength he might have used to care.

Shimada Hanzo moves on, his feet stepping through jeweled grass and making little noise. 

A sparrow suddenly flits through the clearing he happens on and there is a painful silence as Hanzo closes his eyes, his heart skipping a beat.

He knew a lively sparrow once with the swiftest of wings. Then Hanzo cut off the wings, pinned the sparrow to a door with a sharp nail and watched it struggle until it went limp with no lungs and no heartbeat behind his wide eyes. 

He has pinned many butterflies and birds since, but none with the grief of the first. 

Fortunately, perhaps, he does not need to put an arrow through someone’s eyes this time. It is a simple spying job, a play at being a private investigator in a timeless noir.

Hanzo is good at being unseen.

Dark eyes idly wander over a bee nest, cracked and dripping with honey -  the site of a bear massacre. His curiosity distracts the single-minded focus for a moment; despite his family’s wealth, he has not once tasted honey.

Warily stopping in front of the nest, Hanzo tilts his head and listens for the sound of buzzing. 

There is none.

A childish delight sweeps through for a moment and knocks him off-balance, a friendly elbow nudging his ribs.

His mouth curls upwards briefly. 

A calloused hand cautiously creeps forward and pokes a fingertip into the clear gold, bringing it back to his mouth and licking it off quickly as he starts forward, leaving the broken nest behind without a glance back.

The honey is sweet and soothes his thirsty throat momentarily.

Oh.

It is...good?

Hanzo mentally puts that information away, despite it serving him no purpose. He is not one to indulge himself permanently, after all.  His lips thin as he thinks of Genji, of that horrific anniversary approaching again. 

 _Curse it_ , it cannot leave him be. 

Genji cannot leave him be.

An echo of a cheeky laugh whispers in his ear and he ignores the phantom waving to his right, orange flapping in the late spring breeze. 

He shoulders his quiver and bow.

_“Anija!”_

He has a job to do.

And then...

And then.

* * *

 

By the time he realises, it’s too late.

By the time he turns round with fresh denial spilling from his angry mouth, it’s too late.

Genji gently stalks back into his life in a second skin and Hanzo smashes like glass thrown against the tiles. The pieces scatter and he cannot pick them all up.

_“It is time to pick a side.”_

**You cannot tell me that...not anymore. Not again.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the first chapter done! I really hope you like it! I wrote this chapter to this: https://youtu.be/u1j2LoW3P14  
> Please regard this story and I kindly. By the way, Hanzo is not in Japan, he is in Canada in this chapter. Also, in regards to Hanzo not having tried honey before, I was thinking about the food I haven't tried yet despite it being accessible to me and I ended up writing that through Hanzo. Hope that's okay.


	2. Lonely Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for the support so far! Here is chapter two.

Hanzo aches from the cracks on his skin, cut right through to the bone. They used to be filled, but not with gold.  It was the uncaring, hasty slap of cheap glue and alcohol – no wonder he’s flaking.

A bitter chuckle escapes his lips as he downs another mouthful of sake and his hand scrubs the table as he gropes for the bottle. He is not blindly drunk, never in public (not where he can be cut down), but he is certainly tipsy, a tingling sensation numbing his fingers.

That alone is dangerous.

He must leave, complete the drinking ritual alone.

Dark eyes roam the bar he sits in, taking in the clustered environment before him. A beefy man perches precariously on a frayed stool, arms clasped around a petite, giggling woman and yelling out compliments to her. The two bartenders keep the alcohol flowing on the glossy counter, sliding shot glasses with varying degrees of enthusiasm while the music pulses and throbs in time to Hanzo’s growing headache. He blinks away the purple strobe lighting, the atmosphere muggy and stifling, and goes to stand, stumbling a little when his foot catches on the leg of the bolted-down table, though he quickly rights himself with the discipline carved into him from birth.

Thoughts of family hurt more now than ever.

As Hanzo slips through the crowd and out through the double doors, cooler air wraps around his heated skin and his eyes close in relief for a brief moment before snapping back open.

Not _yet_.

Not until he is safely sequestered away in his room.

Shimada Hanzo learned a long time ago that he is never safe.

Luck seems to hold for him tonight, however – nobody follows him back to the hotel, though he takes this with a wry smile and a pinch of salt; he is still tipsy after all and the night is young.

Plenty of time for him to drink his teeming thoughts into utter oblivion.

His hand grasps the cool, blessedly full flask as his hip and Hanzo flumbles a little with the key card, a small holo-disk you only had to show the door for it to swing open. It is easily replicated and easily hacked, though Hanzo finds himself swallowed by apathy at the thought as his kyudo-gi slips from his other shoulder. He doesn’t bother to pull it back up.

Why should he be concerned for his own well-being?

Genji is alive but Hanzo’s mourning only begins anew.

Maybe if he lives through the night, he will go back to caring in the morning. Maybe he will find a new hotel that’s old and rundown that still relies on ancient keys and locks.

_I have accepted what I am and I have forgiven you._

That is not right.

Hanzo lets the door shut with a quiet click behind him and slumps into a chair immediately to the right, fingers already prising open his flask of plum wine.

He hasn’t eaten today so he will be drunk fairly soon.

A mouthful as he gazes out of the window. Two more sees him crawling on to the window seat (the wood hard on his knees and thighs) and leaning his forehead against the icy glass. It soothes and doesn’t.

Genji is alive.

But, no, this cannot BE. He struck him down himself, watched the blood spray on a scroll and splash at his feet and soak into his hands until it was absorbed into his own.

His lungs shrink and he can’t seem to take in air so he drinks in more alcohol as a poisonous substitute instead. Hanzo’s hand trembles and he watches it from afar, detached from his own body.

How he had screamed.

How **_Genji_** had screamed.

That cybernetic…creature cannot be his younger brother. Nobody can be brought back from death (not in that way, what has he done?) – it must be a built mockery come to pull his sanity apart before finally taking his feeble life.

Hanzo is uncertain whether he will welcome it or die struggling.

A gentle patter sweeps through his tired thoughts for a moment and Hanzo realises it’s raining.

He closes his eyes, lashes brushing the skin on his cheek momentarily as he leans heavily against the window.

He has always preferred rain.

The drink sloshes as he brings it to his wet lips for more. That’s good – means he doesn’t have to get up to refill it yet.

A flash of green brings goosebumps to his skin.

Hanzo is only trying to fool himself.

He saw those achingly familiar eyes, their father’s eyes. He saw the blinding dragon brought forth from a sword and given mastery over his own blue twins. As if in answer to that memory, the dragons stir under his skin fretfully before falling asleep once more as Hanzo croons in a weary tone. They too have been restless with wounded prides and joyful hearts.

 _Our brother returns,_ they whispered at the temple and Hanzo felt that same flash of joy.

Who else can control a dragon like that? Who else can stare Hanzo down with firm eyes the colour of tawny brown?

Hanzo shudders and presses a clammy hand to his mouth, as if to hold something back.

Tears? Wailing?

He doesn’t know.

_The world is changing once again, Hanzo, and it is time to pick a side._

How?

What did Genji mean? He sounded like a fairytale, naïve and stubborn and Hanzo had told him so.

His chin quakes minutely.

There **are** no sides in a world like this. Nobody is pure, ideologically or otherwise. Genji was – is – a fool for believing it so.

Nonetheless, as Hanzo sneers into the shadows and knocks back another swig, he grabs for redemption. His body dances under the same old puppet strings and even Genji’s revival cannot cut him loose. In fact, it only appears to have bound him tighter.

Lord, he thinks about throwing himself off a balcony and ending this charade – Shimada Hanzo is not loved after all.

Genji’s metal hand brushes gently over his bare shoulder and fades into memory.

Genji cannot, should not forgive him. He certainly doesn’t love him. Hanzo is too blackened, too…wrong. He doesn’t deserve such things.

Hanzo chokes down a crushing laugh with more wine and pretends he doesn’t miss Genji’s warm arm around his shoulder.

His limbs ache.

He’s just crossed jaggedly from the windowsill to the bed, hearing the rustle of inviting sheets as he slides under them with the intent of drinking in bed instead, when a buzzing fills the silence.

He blinks drowsily at his little side bag.

For God’s sake.

His phone is ringing – most likely another “client”.

Hanzo’s work does not end, despite being a self-employed assassin and mercenary for hire.

Rubbing his face and smacking his cheeks to bring himself to a semblance of awareness, Hanzo gropes with the bag and his cell phone. He will answer it even as he curses it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the interest! I hope this second chapter was good and there WILL be action starting next chapter, I promise! Also, the description of gold in the cracks is a reference to the Japanese art of kintsugi, where you repair broken pottery with lacquer dusted with powdered gold or silver. The idea is that something broken can also be beautiful. Hanzo doesn't think this way, for obvious reasons.


	3. All the King's Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! As always, thank you for reading and comments are greatly appreciated, even if they’re only small. Had a bit of a longer time with this chapter than I expected, but hopefully it will be worth it! Was heavily inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire for this.

_**“Did I interrupt something?”** _

The voice on the end of the line grates at him, an almost smug tone that sets him on edge. Nevertheless, Hanzo schools his own reply into something bland and unassuming – the must-have attitude to protect himself in his line of…work.

“Nothing particularly important,”

 _ **“Hah, you mercs are all the same,”**_ the woman laughs, almost as though she is sharing in a private joke with him.

Hanzo says nothing in return and she sighs.

_**“You’re no fun. Anyway, to business,”** _

There is a creaking noise, as if she is leaning back in an office chair. Perhaps she is. He has had many wealthy clients looking to eliminate competition.

**_“I’ve heard you’re pretty quiet, as far as assassins and mercs go. I tried a guy before you and he fucked up – got too flashy and got caught,”_ **

Hanzo blinks away the blurred room and moves to sit at the edge of the bed, drunken muscles protesting.

“I try to keep a low profile.”

He hopes he doesn’t sound too drunk – discipline cannot cover everything, after all.

If she suspects, she either doesn’t care or is too polite to let him know.

**_“That’s what I like to hear! I think you and I will be good friends!”_ **

Hanzo lets out an inelegant snort at that, but continues to listen as the unknown client makes her plans known.

_**“I have some data I need to get hold of and it’s kept inside a Lumerico warehouse in Dorado. The problem is, Helix is guarding it,”** _

“And you need me to obtain it for you,”

 _ **“Bingo!”** _ There’s a snapping of fingers ** _. “You’re good at this!”_**

“I have to be, it’s my job,” Hanzo replies shortly, unimpressed with her mockery. “I assume you have the co-ordinates?”

There is a pause.

And his tablet sounds off its notification cheerfully as her co-ordinates come through the private network. Hanzo dully notes that he will have to change the networks and his tablet soon enough, even as something nags at his brain. He shrugs it off, too tired and drunk for any more nonsense. He can deal with this in the morning.

“I see,” he hums down the phone, despite having not moved an inch to bother looking at the plans. “It will be done,”

 _ **“Look at that,”**_ her voice croons right back. _**“You don’t even question anything; you just go right ahead and obey! You DO have a great work attitude,”**_

Hanzo wonders with a rising temper if someone within the darker circles of the mercenary underworld has recommended him. He shifts on the end of the bed, not in the mood to say much more as he listens to it creak under him.

“You expect someone like me to care or question your motivations?” he asks with clear disinterest, images of blood and betrayal flashing behind his closed eyelids.

She hums, as though considering, before laughing again.

_**“Nah, it isn’t something you should be concern that pretty head of yours with anyway. The details are in that file, as well as floor plans and potential routines of the guard shifts,”** _

The voice pauses as something makes a loud noise, comparable to a door slamming.

 _ **“Look, I’m on a time limit as it is, so I’m cutting this short,”** _ she continues, speaking with a sudden urgency. _**“Adios and good luck!”**_

The phone abruptly sings the hang-up tone down his ear and he pulls it away, dropping it into his travel bag. With an exhausted noise of discontent, he slowly stands up and sways.

He must somehow sleep off this drunk state of being and then move on to business in the morning. Hanzo doubts it will be peaceful, but he must sleep all the same.

Hanzo tugs off his clothing and slips on a vest and plain pants, before clambering clumsily into bed and closing his eyes.

Perhaps he will sleep and nothing more.

A pounding heart and a hand jerking outwards to accompany the silent scream proves otherwise.

* * *

 

Hanzo reaches Dorado and books the quietest hotel he can find within the space of a day. As far as anyone knows, he is a tourist in the habit of keeping to himself, unassuming and polite in safe civilian clothing. Hanzo does not unpack many of the meagre belongings he owns in the clean bedroom, too used to running in the dead of night from a “family” unforgotten.

Family is not something he will ever truly know.

Afterwards, he pads down past the busy reception desk and steps out into Dorado, where he is assailed with heat and NOISE. Hanzo finds himself already wishing he could leave, but his work comes first over any personal needs ( _those must always come last always, remember Hanzo!_ ) and he fishes out his tablet on the pretext of studying a map around the Mexican city.

At least Dorado does not have the saccharine warmth of Numbani, where every human and omnic pretends to get along with no repercussions and no discomfort. Something in Hanzo twists at the memories he made there (and the sights he saw which he will never have) and he shakes his dark head.

Focus.

He turns a corner, passing under a roofed bridge connecting a few homes together and stumbles upon a little marketplace bustling with people. The salt from the nearby sea mingles with smoky meats, choking fragrances and delicate sweets; Hanzo is drawn towards it, wrestling with conflict inside his mind for a moment before hesitantly slipping into the crowd. It does not hurt to check all avenues, after all.

Then again, his curiosity is by far his most likely weakness, something he tries to crush daily under many layers of pride.

The stalls sell pretty tourist trinkets of gold and red; one stall is cloaked in a rainbow of silken scarves, a silver one catching Hanzo’s eye in particular. He does not have to pretend here – he is truly wide-eyed at the sights of the market spread before him. Hanzo reaches out and brushes his fingers carefully over the tassles on the silver scarf, but he has not come here to frolic and he ruefully shakes his head at the watchful vendor, who only shrugs in mild disappointment.

It is once he finally reaches the edge of the crowd, his boots crushing pastel-coloured confetti, that he notices the two big wooden doors, wide open under a bland terracotta archway. His attention is slipping – such poor form. Brown eyes study the directions and map given to him once more and he realises that he has been heading in the right direction of the Lumerico warehouse this whole time - a pleasant bonus given in reward to his fickle curiosity.

Hanzo sighs and strolls through the archway, passing the open doors of a small, airy chapel as he sticks to the pavement along the road. There is little traffic, mostly due to whatever festival is accompanying the market, so nobody notices when he veers off into an alleyway, nose pressed to his tablet.

A lost tourist – that is all he is.

* * *

 

The sun falls to the night’s star-freckled fingers and Hanzo stirs lightly beneath the covers of his bed at the insistent beeping of his alarm. He needed that nap, he thinks as he rises from the double bed.  He needs all of his wits for the one-man raid he is partaking in tonight.

Hanzo has spent the best part of three days watching over the targeted warehouse from chosen perches, never staying in one place for too long.  The buildings of Dorado are fairly easy for him to climb and the rooftops are blessedly flat, sheltered by high white and red walls. It’s been ages since Hanzo found good cover like this, but even then, he does not take chances.

He will not take any now either. Despite his intense studies of guard rotation and weaponry, Shimada Hanzo knows full well that anything can change and that other human beings never do what is expected of them.

His thoughts flash momentarily to Genji and he grimaces.

No wonder then that he is permanently exhausted.

He dresses quickly, pulling inky hair into the high ponytail he favours with the short black ribbon reserved for such missions lying on the bedside table. His clothes too are dark – better to slip away unseen into the shadows and watch or flee if necessary. It will be over soon and Hanzo can go back to his hotel rooms and lifeless routine. He is good at going through the motions, as though he is in some twisted pantomime.

Hanzo will have to wait to explore his self-pity, for it is time to put the plan into motion. Were he a religious man, he might consider praying for good luck, but Hanzo lost faith in deities years ago.

He wastes no time climbing out of his window and clambering up to the roof, finding his bearings before taking a running leap and tucking his body into a roll as he reaches the next roof. He makes most of the journey to the warehouse in this fashion, unseen and unheard. There are times he must retreat to ground level, grateful that the night covers many illicit activities. The guards for the midnight shift are making their rounds, backs stiff but arms and weapons relaxed – an error they may come to regret if Hanzo has to cross them, something he hopes for convenience’s sake will not happen. He nocks an arrow and shoots at a concealed wall, seeing red figures within the distance of the sonic as it spreads. Hanzo waits with bated breath, then moves as swiftly as possible into the opening he is given as a guard walks idly round the corner with a distant hum.

Fool. Hanzo is right under his nose.

He presses himself into a corner hidden with large crates and listens, head tilted to the side like a bird. Footsteps pass and Hanzo shifts to new cover, rolling to make the least noise possible. There are few cameras in this warehouse; then again, the contents within are not considered too important, according to his client. The few guards existing are only being paid a small fee. But any information in the wrong hands can lead to larger gains, as Shimada Hanzo knows all too well. There is a trace of a smirk as he spots the first camera and he nocks another arrow. This one is a small EMP, designed to knock out unwanted eyes quickly and quietly. He will not have much time after this – whoever is watching on the cameras will immediately suspect something is wrong, even if that thought doesn’t immediately stray to an intruder.

His heart trips as he skitters lightly down the corridor after placing the arrows. It’s been a long time since he has invaded like this and a small voice in his brain anxiously murmurs that this is too easy.

Hanzo silence it for now, for he can ill afford any distractions.

The door that he is meant to break into is around another corner and up a flight of stairs. As far as he remembers, another security guard and another camera lie in his way. They won’t do so for much longer, he thinks with a detached sense of triumph (there will be time after for reclining fully in such feelings).

The moon flows gently through a bare window and Hanzo slips under the sill instead as he comes to the stairs. Hesitantly, he places a foot in a step and tenses, listening hard before readying another sonic arrow, just in case.

He takes his time, pausing every so often to assess and continue listening. Thankfully, he makes it to the top with no incident and he switches arrows, taking out the camera attached to a joint in the wall where it meets the ceiling. The only slight sound is the tapping of his metal boots on cheap tiling.

Hanzo exhales and presses to the wall, peering round the corner. To his chagrin, the guard is facing away from him, but standing in front of the door at the end of a narrow corridor. He will have to subdue him and then use the convenient windows to escape with the documents afterwards.

It’s alright.

Hanzo knows many ways to down a person without killing them.

He smoothly creeps round, carefully moving towards the oblivious guard. Just as the guard starts to turn and repeat a circuit, Hanzo is upon him with one hand over his mouth and another jabbing his temple violently as the man struggles. There will be a bruise, Hanzo thinks as the man crumples, the only sign he was ever there.

He didn’t have a weapon out of its holster.

Hanzo shakes his head at such an unprofessional, even as his skin prickles with concern, and lays eyes upon the door. It appears to be locked with a passcode and Hanzo turns round to consider the man lying before him. Then he shrugs almost amicably and kneels to root through his uniform. When that yields nothing, he sighs minutely and produces a small chip from a pocket sewn into his kyudo-gi. This should hack it soon enough. He sticks it to the passcode device and waits.

Suddenly, a green light appears and Hanzo’s hand immediately grips the doorknob as a noise trills out.

He’s in.

It is a surprisingly big office and Hanzo stops to scan the room warily before moving to the computer and pulling out a thin, turquoise USB chip, Slotting it in, he taps at a key and the screen comes out of its screensaver. Why would someone carelessly leave a computer on like this? The voice from earlier is crying out in warning and Hanzo moves to touch the screen with clammy fingers, desperate to be gone.

Something clicks against the back of his head.

“And the mouse was caught in the trap.”

Hanzo freezes, ice trickling down his spine and into his veins.

“Turn around,” comes the death rattle and Hanzo very slowly does as he’s told.

Shadows lap hungrily at his feet as he faces down a bone-white mask, one that reminds him of a barn owl.

He has heard whispers of a hooded figure, resplendent in ebony and bringing death from everywhere and nowhere. He dismissed them, at a clear cost. The owl has just trapped him in its talons and all he can do is hang limply for the moment, heart pounding in a tight chest.

Shimada Hanzo is staring directly at the Reaper itself.

The first wild thought to come forth is that he doesn’t actually _look_ very terrifying.

The second is a realisation at the presence of the other armed agents dressed in black filing into the room and appearing from unnaturally darkened corners that did not exist previously. His stomach drops at such unnatural circumstances and a white symbol on a man’s shoulder.

Hanzo is apparently surrounded by Talon.

Why?

What are they doing here? How did they know?! Are the Helix guards really with Helix?

Perhaps he can bluff his way through this; they don’t know him so he can claim ignorance -!

“Hanzo Shimada,” purrs the Reaper. “You’ve been a busy man over these last ten years,”

They knew.

They knew he was coming.

This is a trap, plain and true.

Hanzo curses himself for being lax and his client for the most likely betrayal. What does a terrorist cell like Talon want with Hanzo, however?

From the other rumours drifting on the wind, it is not a good thing that they have taken such interest.

“I was not aware of my fame,” Hanzo replies neutrally, crushing down any panic and anger and hoping that Reaper cannot sense the sweat creeping down his neck and back. “Should I be flattered?”

Reaper chuckles, his voice dry and raspy like dead leaves in a graveyard.

“You’re pretty well-known in…certain circles.” He waves a hand, the shotgun in his hand dissipating into particles. Hanzo wonders how many people were paid a pretty sum to sell him out. Not many, considering he tries to avoid human contact, but enough to change his priorities for next time.

“Talon tasked me with making you an offer.”

 _Don’t refuse me_ , his confidence declares. _You can’t refuse it, not when we see all._

His dragons are writhing eagerly beneath his skin, hissing at the wrongness pouring from the Reaper in clouds of stifling smoke. _He is tainted,_ they declare. _Let us consume and you will be rid of this threat!_

His arm burns under their angry weight and Hanzo forces himself to remain still. He pleads with them as the Reaper paces a step closer and they settle begrudgingly for now – Hanzo cannot just run or he will be caught.

“You’re a disgraced yakuza Lord,” Reaper scoffs, circling him in a manner not unlike a slaver looking over new purchases and Hanzo’s skin crawls.

“That is _none_ of your concern!” he opts to spit instead. “I will not be going back to the Clan any time soon,”

“What if you could?”

Hanzo pauses, confused and caught off guard by the irrational wave of longing.

“You could have it all. You could become the rightful ruler once more, rocketing the Clan to new heights. They’ve been falling apart without you, Shimada – isn’t that _pathetic_?”

Hanzo remains still and haughty as Death continues to stalk around him, stopping momentarily to put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

It’s so cold and revolting. Hanzo wants it off!

Hanzo is so cold…

“Join us - you know that we'll take what we want anyway, so why not make this easier on yourself?”

Reaper knows what to say, at any rate, even if it is careless and cold.

Hanzo’s dark eyes dart around the room, noting all of the raised weapons, the way Reaper has a hand on a shotgun. He cannot deny the lure of his former position is there, but he is no fool and his decision is already made.

“At what cost?” he answers, readying his body and mind for an upcoming fight, muscles coiled like a tight spring. “I have heard of how you treat your…friends,”

Reaper sounds disappointed as he replies, as though he is a good-natured father scolding his wayward son.

“Is that a no?”

“It _is_ a no,” Hanzo repeats, his voice firm and taut. “I made my decision years ago. My answer is no.”

Weapons being let free from their safety positions echo across the room and Reaper gives a casual shrug, withdrawing both shotguns as he leans forward.

“Eh, what’s one more Widowmaker?”

They mean to extract him by force and turn him into a brainwashed slave, knowledge he has spun from rumours, leaks and a fair bit of common sense.

No, Hanzo is DONE with that role!

His dragons are afire in his blood as Hanzo ducks away from Reaper lashing out and bolts, overturning a table and crouching against gun fire. A scatter arrow dispatches three of the ten men accompanying Reaper and Hanzo aches to be bathed in the moonlight streaming through the windows, for it will mean escape. If he can just - !

Something slams into the back of his head and the archer is sent flying into and over the upturned table, crying out as his ribs groan under the pressure. A tendril of something squeezes and cracks his middle as Hanzo tries to drag himself upright and Hanzo chokes, holding on to his bow for dear life. The dark smoke recoils abruptly as though burned. It probably was, judging by the way his arm is crackling and shredding the left sleeve of his kyudo-gi.

His head throbs and he distinctly feels wet warmth trickling down his scalp. Regardless, he must clear a path for himself immediately or he is lost. A bullet grazes his arm as he throws himself away from a shotgun blast and scrambles to avoid the other seven Talon grunts. Besides, the dragons want out and Hanzo is nothing if not a generous host.

The words spill from his mouth in a vicious avalanche and the dragons tumble free, roaring and ripping through all in the their path. Seven men die in agony and Reaper is screaming in rage and pain.

Hanzo has lowered his bow and shimmied through the window in the meantime, hitting the floor awkwardly in his hurry. The square in front of him wavers and Hanzo coughs, pressing a hand to cracked ribs with a grimace. Alarms are wailing behind him and he’s climbing up a wall and on to the roof before he realises what his body is doing. Every bone, every muscle moans in pain and Hanzo’s panting heavily.

He must get back to the hotel without being followed and then flee without looking back at the chaos. His life is in more danger than previously suspected – how could he have been so stupid?!

Surely his father must be rolling in his grave.

Shockingly, Hanzo staggers and trips his way back to the hotel room with no tail present and he can only woozily conclude that Reaper is stuck amidst the destruction Hanzo left behind. The last climb up to his hotel window leaves his ribs shrieking in protest and Hanzo fighting nausea and black spots floating in front of his eyes.

The room tilts and Hanzo slides to his knees without meaning to. His mind wanders and his side greets the floor – when did that happen?

He…

He has to go.

Oh, but he needs to rest first…

Just for a moment.

He registers his limbs hitting the carpet and the world winking out of existence, two ancient voices calling frantically from far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a LOT longer than expected, phew! Thank you for reading.


	4. I Woke up and Wished that I was Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This has been a while coming and I apologise for that. Hope this continues to entertain!

_“Hanzo! You’re always so good at hiding away!”_

_So Genji has found him after all._

_The older brother doesn’t answer the younger straight away, too at ease in the caress of the warm summer breeze. This is the first time he has felt so relaxed since coming back from the business trip with his father. He’d sat dutifully through every meeting Sojiro Shimada held with his associates and, despite admiring his father’s absolute control, he’d only been able to think of how Genji would have found it so unbelievably droll._

_Hanzo paid attention- he isn’t allowed to find business boring, not if he is to inherit the Clan someday. Genji doesn’t have the same pressure and Hanzo alternates between crushing envy and gladness._

_“Can’t believe you didn’t come to find me after you got back!” Genji whines, pouting playfully as he lays his head on Hanzo’s shoulder._

_“I can’t believe you weren’t there to greet me,” Hanzo shoots back with no real bite to it._

_Genji still stiffens and Hanzo internally winces._

_“I…was joking, Genji. Forgive me for not finding you straight away – I was more exhausted than I realised,”_

_Genji shrugs, chasing the tension away as he leans back._

_“Eh, business is hard,”_

_More than you know, Hanzo thinks, opting to say nothing instead. He reaches a hand into his little pouch bag hanging at his side and withdraws a small package wrapped in tissue paper._

_“Here, a souvenir,” he says with a crook of his lips and Genji grins as Hanzo tips it into his outstretched hand._

_Genji pokes at it experimentally before wiggling his fingers._

_“Can never say no to a present!” he chirps, brown eyes shining as he unwraps a silver keychain and trinket._

_Hanzo wants to explain himself for some reason; thinks worriedly that his little brother won’t like it._

_“I-It is custom made,” he mutters, breaking the silence hesitantly with a lick of his lips. “I asked for your name to be engraved on the North Dragon…from the story you liked as a boy,”_

_Genji stares at the dragon with no words and Hanzo’s heart sinks at the lack of expression._

_“Never mind, I will replace it with something better,” he snaps to cover up his hurt and reaches over to take it._

_Genji snatches it away._

_“No! I really like it! I’m gonna put it on my car keys,”_

_Hanzo peers at him, brow creased in suspicion._

_“I thought you would find it boring?”_

_Genji draws him into a quick, tight hug (Hanzo’s shoulders tense up at the unexpected contact), his gaze slightly sober for some reason._

_“You should trust yourself more!” he laughs as he pulls away. “Good pick, brother!”_

_Hanzo smothers his confusion away and smiles back._

* * *

 

There are voices whispering in the dark and he can’t move his arms or legs. He wants to go back to the memory, a better time when they were younger and closer. He’s always wondered what happened to that keychain.

It was such a nice dream…

“I think he’s startin’ to come round!”

A woman’s voice, cheerful and light as a feather - she sounds…friendly. Hanzo does not know how to deal with such people, nor does he know how she got into his room.

Slowly, he draws in a deeper breath and forces his eyes to flutter open, heavy as they are. His head is splitting apart, but when he hisses in another breath, he realises that it doesn’t hurt to breathe.

Has he been given painkillers?

Wearily alarmed at the thought of being drugged in his own hotel room, Hanzo manages to sit up, his dark eyes darting around the blurry room.

“Cheers love, nice to see you up!” says the woman again and Hanzo narrows his gaze.

He is no fool – Tracer is very easy to recognise, thanks to past and recent exploits. The blonde sitting beside her, however, is recognisable, but he can’t recall her name right now through the thumping in his head; though she is clearly a medic of some kind. Her long staff sends a soothing biotic stream into his bruised body and Hanzo slumps at the warmth.

“How did you find me?” he manages, cutting through Tracer’s attempt to speak again. This question is imperative and he won’t allow distractions.

If he must run again, he will need to keep them talking before he attempts anything, a ploy to gather his wits. His muscles are already coiling and the migraine makes him sway in place. The doctor remains quiet, busy with checking his vitals on one floating screen and his healing ribs with another. She taps at an X-ray that pops up on her holo as Tracer answers instead.

“We’ve been on Talon’s tail for months! We managed to get intel telling us that they were gonna be here in Dorado, an’ imagine our surprise when we saw ‘em fighting with you tonight! You were pretty good at getting away from Reaper!”

“You were warned of their presence here tonight?” Hanzo questions sharply, hoping they won’t pry into why he was at that warehouse as well.

He scrutinises her almost disdainfully to cover up his concern and, to her credit, she looks a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t realise you were going to be there, I swear on my nan’s grave!”

It is Hanzo’s turn to shift in discomfort, partly at the nature of Tracer’s sincerity, partly as the doctor leans forward to press her fingers against his side.

“Does that hurt?”

“No,”

“Good,” she replies, all business as she goes to type in a file and he appreciates the attitude. He also appreciates her labelling him as “Patient 004”.

“Mercy here didn’t wanna leave you all hurt like that and neither did I,” Tracer continues, rounding up her story. “So we split into teams and left the others to deal with Talon at the warehouse while we broke into your room after, er, following you. We were gonna leave you to have some privacy and all, but apparently your vitals dropped,”

Hanzo convinces himself to kneel in his usual meditative position, the carpet sponge-like against his knees. They obviously mean him no harm but unease still lingers in his mind.

“This means that Overwatch is active?” he asks after a small moment of running the information through his head. His migraine is dulling to an aching throb. “Or were you acting alone?”

Tracer grins wickedly, even as Mercy (how could he forget the name of the woman who has changed the medical world?) sighs.

“Overwatch is back in town, alright!”

Mercy stops the golden flow of the staff and folds it into a little tube. Her clear blue eyes meet his firmly.

“You’re Genji’s brother,”

It is a statement, not a question and the tension between the three builds again. Hanzo’s brow furrows and his tone is bitter when he gives the affirmative.

“Yes…if that means anything anymore,”

Tracer rocks backwards bit where she’s seated before speaking again, her gloved hand running through short hair.

“You’re a pretty amazing fighter, y’know? And the world could always use more heroes!”

Mercy halts in running her gaze over his hunched form and shoots her a glance in the darkened room, though pale, watery morning light is starting to peek in. It gives the occupants of the room a ghostly quality and Hanzo wonders if this is a fever dream.

“Are you implying what I think you are?”

Mercy sounds concerned at Tracer’s thoughtful tone and Hanzo cannot blame her. He has a horrible feeling he knows what is coming.

“Yep! Why don’t you join us, Mr Shimada?”

Hanzo stiffens at the offer – one that has already been made once this past night. Judging by Mercy’s raised brow, she is incredulous at the mere thought of his entry into this new, most definitely illegal Overwatch. Hanzo remembers vaguely watching the news the day the Petras Act came into being and thinking that he couldn’t care less.  Why would they want or need a man like _him_ in this organisation of “heroes”?

Hanzo scoffs inwardly, remembering Overwatch’s fall in Switzerland. No, they are no more heroes than he; the difference is that they retained _their_ humanity.

“No,” he snaps for the second time in the span of two or three hours, pushing to his feet. “I only wish to be left alone,”

Mercy seems saddened as he bows stiffly to them both, his face wooden.

“I am grateful for your help and I will repay the debt somehow. However, I cannot accept this offer,”

They would seek to control him in their own way (his lungs seize up at this) and Hanzo must flee, bury himself in relative safety. They can’t be allowed to find him again.

The cold finality hangs in the air and Tracer’s disappointment is written all over her youthful face. Perhaps she didn’t expect much of Genji’s murderous brother after all. Unlike Reaper, she merely nods with a sigh, unfolding from the floor to blink to the door. Hanzo twitches in shock at her bright flash of speed, but recalls that she apparently gets that from the neon device glowing around her chest (according to whispers anyway).

“We tried, I guess!” she quips to Mercy, then gives him a two-fingered salute with a flick of her wrist. “Goodbye love! Try not to get found by Talon again, eh?”

And with a giggle that seems out of place, she’s gone, just like that.

Mercy shakes her pretty head fondly.

“I suppose I’ll have to meet her at the extraction point,”

For a moment, there is an awkward silence as she packs away the rest of her medical kit and peels off monitor strips and thin wires from his clammy skin. Then Mercy steps away and tilts her head to the side.

“Be careful out there, Shimada- _san_ ,” she murmurs. “If you ever get into trouble again, call us on this,”

She slips out a communicator from a pouch and lays it on the bed. Hanzo eyes it warily.

“Goodbye,”

There is a gentle crook of her lips and she too walks gracefully out of sight.

Hanzo immediately rushes to lock the door and turns away, hands shaking.

He does not want her pity.

* * *

 

Hanzo leaves the hotel as soon as possible, changing into civilian clothes and hurriedly exiting, his bag and quiver slung over his shoulder. His body aches a little, but much less than it would have done otherwise. Hanzo wonders how Mercy’s technology works and how powerful it really is before brushing the curiosity away. He has no time for trivial things. Dorado is quiet and balmy in the early morning and, within the hour, Hanzo is seated on a rickety bus to the nearest city. He watches the shimmering sea escape past the rocky hills and fiddles with his new phone. He already dumped his old one, pulling out a spare from his meagre supplies. There is a blank SIM chip within it and he knows he will have to leave his new contact details somewhere on the deep web and the usual channels for others to use if necessary.

His life is getting more fucking complicated than it already is and he hates it passionately. A dark voice in the back of his mind whispers how pointless his running is and Hanzo shudders, avoiding his wan reflection in the glass as he leans back and lets the ochre roads and farmlands pass by in a blur of dust and trees. Three hours after his bus arrives at his shining destination, Hanzo slips through the working crowds and blinks through his disassociation, only just managing to be aware of his environment as he huddles on a train seat and nods robotically at an elderly conductor dating the ticket on his screen. An Omnic comes round with food and pleasant conversation and Hanzo barely reacts to him either, too dazed and absorbed in his own empty thoughts. He _knows_ he is breaking down, but he has to get out of the public eye before the inevitable spiral. He only rouses himself once he realises that the train is traveling in a sleek line through the Mexican countryside.

This will do.

He scrubs a hand down his face, the sense of touch grounding him to reality for the moment, and moves raggedly with his few possessions through the door. As soon as he is certain nobody is watching, he slides open a window and heaves himself out on to the edge of the speeding transport. The metal flashes under the sun, temporarily causing him to screw up his face and lose his footing. Then, without further delay, he closes his eyes against the wind, tries to settle his pounding heart, and leaps out into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! All comments and kudos have been very much appreciated! Also, I forgot to mention that any different languages will be put into italics - except if it is a memory, then the style will be italic anyway.


End file.
